


Lead Me Not Into Temptation

by MsThunderFrost



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Finger Sucking, Forest Sex, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Uses His Words, Horns, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kinky, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Succubi & Incubi, Tail Sex, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:30:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22646098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: “...You’re not human.”“Gee, what was your first clue? Was it the horns? I’d bet money on the horns.”This is… not at all what he’d envisioned when he’d dreamt of waking up to Jaskier curled up in his arms for the very first time.AKAIn which Geralt attempts to convince Jaskier that, demon blood or no, he's still the annoying, troublesome little bard who stole his heart, and lots of kinky sex is had.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 351





	Lead Me Not Into Temptation

“...You’re not human.”

“Gee, what was your first clue? Was it the horns? I’d bet money on the horns.” 

“Jaskier… shut the fuck up.” 

This is… not at all what he’d envisioned when he’d dreamt of waking up to Jaskier curled up in his arms for the very first time. 

Jaskier is definitely  _ not _ human. And no, the horns hadn’t been what clued him in… though, now that he has a chance to take a proper look at Jaskier in the misty morning light… they’re absolutely fucking  _ huge _ . He’s almost hesitant to refer to them as  _ horns _ \--they’re more like antlers, towering high above his head in a delicate curve. The true bone is a delicate ombre, beginning as a soft, cornflower blue that matches the color of his eyes and gradually transforming into a color so dark its almost,  _ almost _ black. 

No, to be fair, while the horns were a rather  _ obvious _ give away, the first thing he’d noticed upon waking was that he could have easily spent another two… maybe even three hours under the blissful cover of sleep. He felt pleasantly rested, more relaxed than ever before (okay, perhaps not  _ ever _ before, but certainly in recent memory)... and while Jaskier had been an excellent lay, that just wasn’t normal. Unless there was more to his little lark than met the eye.  _ That’s _ when he’d noticed the horns--antlers-- _ things _ protruding from Jaskier’s skull.

Jaskier fidgets nervously under his unwavering gaze, a soft, crimson flush dusting across his cheeks. The Witcher’s face gives nothing away, but he knows that the other cannot be pleased with the fact that Jaskier had kept this from him all this time. And it’s not like Jaskier had actively attempted to hide the truth from him. How does one just come out with ‘oh yes, by the way, I’m an incubus--well, not  _ exactly _ an incubus, but that’s the closest classification I can think of and we’re really not all that different--’ in the midst of casual conversation?

The answer is  _ you don’t _ .

“Calm down,” Geralt whispers, curling his fingers around Jaskier’s bare hip and squeezing lightly. “I’m not mad. Not particularly. At least, not yet. Don’t invent a problem where there isn’t one.” 

“I… B-But I lied to you. A lie by ommission, sure, but I still lied.” Jaskier babbles semi-incoherently. His tail  _ thumps _ against the bedroll in clear agitation.

Molten amber eyes blink lazily, “...You have a tail.”

“Err…  _ yeah _ . I, uh…” he tries to shift to hide the tail from Geralt’s line of sight, but Geralt’s grip tightens on his hip, holding him fast. “I have a tail. It’s… a little unusual. Not as unusual as the wings, but--,” his eyes widen as he realizes what he’d just said. “I, uh… don’t suppose you could be so kind as to forget I just said that.”

Geralt shakes his head, “Hmm.” His grip loosens ever so slightly, his fingers dragging over the swell of Jaskier’s ass and over the ridges of his spine until the calloused pads of his fingers dance over the bard’s shoulder blades. “What do they look like?”

“W-What?” Because he honestly had been expecting Geralt to kick him to the curb, not to--

“Your wings. What do they look like?” Geralt elaborates, gliding his fingers over Jaskier’s tender skin in slow, adoring strokes. 

Jaskier lowers his gaze, spluttering out a barely coherent description of his wings. He had four of them, each large enough to support him if he was interested in flying. But he didn’t utilize them often enough to be comfortable with the idea of flight, as each of the feathers were thin as a razor and every bit as sharp. If angled correctly, the feathers were strong enough to deflect the propulsion of a blade. The feathers were the same color as the lightest blue in his horns, the tips a glittering, iridescent silver…

He doesn’t think that they’re particularly beautiful. Most of his partners run for the hills at the sight of his tail, a piece of his anatomy that’s significantly more difficult to hide than his wings. Once the glamour slips, he’s bare to the world--but he utilizes a different spell to hide his wings. His tail  _ thumps _ again, before slowly, nervously sneaking over to curl around the Witcher’s thigh. The older man raises an eyebrow, shifting ever so slightly but not pulling away. He continues to gently stroke the tender skin between his shoulder blades.

“Are you… You’re  _ sure _ that you aren’t mad?” He whimpers, fingers curling in the Witcher’s soft, silver-white hair as he nips a trail along his stubbly chin. “Don’t get me wrong!” He hurriedly amends when the Witcher fixes him with a disaffected glare, “I’m not  _ upset _ . I’m just… surprised. M-Most people don’t suspect--,”

“To be fair, you walk around in entirely too many clothes to be mistaken for your average sex demon.” Geralt remarks blithely, grazing his teeth over the bard’s pulse point and swooping in to suckle on the bard’s tender flesh until it  _ aches _ and blossoms reddish-purple beneath his lips.

“And when people find out… they don’t tend to stick around for long.” Jaskier whimpers, his legs falling open of their own accord as the Witcher slowly rolls him over onto his back and settles himself between his thighs.

The Witcher shrugs, “...People fear what they do not understand.”

“B-But you’re not afraid?”

A sigh, “Don’t ask stupid questions.” He teases a dusky nipple between his thumb and forefinger, working it into a hard, aching nub, “Unless you’re about to tell me that you’ve been slaughtering all of those young, virgin noblewomen you so love to deflower… You’re just… Jaskier, in a slightly different form.”

“Y-You’d still… even knowing…” tears burn in the corners of Jaskier’s eyes as the Witcher’s sinful tongue descends upon his right nipple, swirling around the hardened nub with deadly efficiency.

Geralt snorts, “You’re not my first sex demon, little lark.” He leans up to give him a playful nip on the nose, “But I will say, you’re decidedly cuter than average.”

The bard puffs out his cheeks in mock annoyance, “Gee, thanks.”

Jaskier’s tail unravels from around the Witcher’s leg, choosing instead to slip between them so that the soft, spade-like head can glide along Geralt’s crack. It takes very little pressure for it to slip between those toned cheeks, the soft, dark brown hairs tickling the sensitive flesh of his taint. Geralt’s lips spread into a lazy smirk as he nudges Jaskier’s legs further apart, spreading his legs a bit wider and angling his hips to allow the tail better access to his nether regions. The fat head strokes along his crack at a slow, steady pace, teasing the raw, slightly puffy flesh of his rim, still slightly slick and stretched from their earlier activities. 

It takes remarkably little work for him to nudge the spade-like head inside of Geralt’s pucker, and the Witcher lets out an absolutely sinful moan at the utterly delicious stretch. His cock is hard and leaking, the tip wet and smearing fluid along Jaskier’s lower belly as he continues to use his tongue to map out the familiar planes of Jaskier’s torso. Even though they’d just lain together a short while before, knowing this new side of Jaskier makes everything seem so  _ new _ , so  _ fresh _ . He drags his tongue along the white swirls that line the other’s body, something like pride swelling in his chest as the other shudders and moans and begins to fuck him in earnest.

“N-Never would’ve suspected you to be a kinky fucker, Geralt. I should’ve known.” Jaskier mumbles, breathless. He begins to speak again, but whatever he’d wanted to say is swallowed by three of Geralt’s fingers sliding past his lips and resting heavy on his tongue.

“ _ Lick _ .” With an obnoxiously wet  _ slurp _ , the bard sets about doing just that. 

The tail continues to piston in and out of Geralt’s tight body, drawing back just far enough that he can feel the pressure of the fat, spade-like head threatening to pop back out. Each slow drag of that tail over his prostate has him seeing stars, causing just enough friction to keep him dangling on the edge of insanity without fear of him tumbling off. He feels stretched in all the right ways--he’s full, but not uncomfortably so. And the tail is just long enough to allow him to dip down and swirl his tongue over the bard’s aching cock. His free hand curls around the bard’s waist to keep him anchored as he slowly bobs his head once… twice…

Jaskier’s eyes roll back in his head, his back arching into a beautiful ‘c’ as the head of his cock brushes against the back of the Witcher’s throat. His vision grows dark at the corners as he reaches blindly, taking a tremendous fistful of Geralt’s hair and holding him fast. The Witcher’s mouth is absolute  _ heaven _ on his throbbing flesh, just the right combination of hot, wet  _ suction _ to have him ready to blow his load on the first stroke. And those freakishly large lungs mean he can stay like that, blinking up at Jaskier through teary coal-black lashes, swallowing around his cock without a care,  _ indefinitely _ .

Jaskier’s tail begins to fuck into him with raw abandon, each thrust powerful enough to send the Witcher’s body  _ rocking _ . Sweet little moans rumble up from the Witcher’s chest to pulsate through Jaskier’s cock. He fucks Jaskier’s mouth messily, drool pouring over the smaller man’s lips as the fingers stretch his lips, his mouth, his  _ jaw _ so wide that his entire face  _ aches _ . And it’s beautiful. He wants,  _ needs _ more. Geralt’s thick fingers dig into his skin, leaving blissfully dark bruises in their wake that he’ll press down against, ever so softly, when they’re out on the road and think of how beautiful Geralt had looked above him, drooling on his cock and split open by his tail.

When Jaskier cums, it’s rather like falling in slow motion. He attempts to stutter a warning around Geralt’s fingers, but all that comes out is garbled nonsense and a wet, throaty moan as Geralt takes him deep and  _ swallows _ . The pressure sends him tumbling over the edge, spilling directly down the Witcher’s throat. Geralt dutifully swallows every last drop, releasing his soft, spent cock with a wet  _ pop _ to begin rocking his hips back against that glorious tail with abandon.

He cums with a muffled groan, biting down into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as he paints Jaskier’s belly and groin in his seed. But he’s not done. Breathless, he notes with a small, barely-there smirk, that he’s still hard enough to pound nails, “Enthrallment?”

“Mmm…” Jaskier hums, curling his arms around the Witcher’s neck and dragging him up for a slow, lazy kiss, his tongue dragging along the inside of that wet, warm cavern to savor the bit of his essence that lingers therein. “Think you can handle a second round, big g--,”

Jaskier cuts off as one of Geralt’s sopping wet fingers probes at his entrance, his short, blunt fingernails digging into the Witcher’s shoulders as it eases past that tight ring of muscle and slips  _ deep _ into his hot, velvety depths. “...Were you saying something, Jaskier?”

“...I’d say ‘fuck you’, but then I’d worry you’d somehow manage to turn it around into an incredibly cliche play on words.” The bard settles for sticking his tongue out at the other, laughing as Geralt lands a particularly rough  _ swat _ on his bum before slipping a second finger inside.

“Me? Cliche?  _ Never _ …” he captures Jaskier’s lips in another kiss as he begins to slowly scissor his fingers, in search of a familiar bundle of nerves that… Jaskier practically  _ sobs _ with pleasure, bucking his hips so hard he comes dangerously close to unseating the other from his perch between his legs…

“Nnn…” the third finger robs Jaskier of the ability to form coherent speech, which is fine because, at this point, there’s truly nothing left to say.

He withdraws his fingers carefully. Jaskier is likely a bit under-stretched, but not so much that this will hurt him. He lifts one of Jaskier’s legs and slings it over his shoulder, taking a moment to appreciate how that glorious  _ stretch _ leaves absolutely  _ nothing _ to the imagination.  _ Everything _ is on full-display for him, including that red, puffy, winking little pucker… He lines himself up, taking a moment to appreciate the sheer tightness of his hole as he tentatively presses against it… He applies more pressure, bit by bit, until the tight ring of muscle begins to yield, swallowing inch after glorious inch of his member until at long last, he is fully-seated. Jaskier is breathing hard and fast, a thin sheen of sweat having broken out across his pale skin as he works to adjust to Geralt’s size for the first time. 

Geralt is not known to do things in halves, and so Jaskier thoroughly expects the other to  _ fuck him _ , to lay into him hard and fast and make it so that Jaskier will be feeling him for days. But he finds himself pleasantly surprised when the first few thrusts the larger man offers are shallow, tentative… Molten amber eyes bore into his own cornflower blue, searching for even the slightest hint of discomfort. None comes. Instead, Jaskier makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a whine as he hooks his legs around Geralt’s waist and forces him in deeper, adjusting their angle so that the head of his cock glides over his prostate with each thrust…

The Witcher grabs onto the smaller man’s hips, gripping them so tight Jaskier is certain that there will be bruises later that day, as his thrusts gradually gain in momentum. His eyes slip shut, silver-white hair falling from its tie to shield his face from view just in time for Jaskier to slip his tail back between the other man’s legs… Geralt grunts as the flared, spade-like head pushes past his sensitive rim once again, dozens of semi-coherent words spilling over his lips as he slams his hips back and forth, rapidly chasing his own release while attempting to drag Jaskier over the edge of the cliff alongside him. 

“Mmm…” Jaskier’s hands tangle in that wild mane of hair as the larger man continues to ride him, “You want to cum inside of me, Witcher?  _ Mark _ me? Make me  _ yours _ ?” He rambles. “D-Do it.  _ Yes _ , just like that.  _ Fuck me _ !”

_ “Jaskier…” _ He whispers, breathless, before his hips stutter and Jaskier can feel a familiar hot, wet  _ warmth _ spreading deep within his core, filling him up so  _ perfectly _ … 

“Yes,  _ yes _ …” his tail continues to pump in and out of the Witcher’s quivering channel as he fucks him through his orgasm. He follows him over the edge not long afterword, the sensation of being so perfectly  _ filled _ , combined with Geralt’s body clamping down on his tail, proving to be too much. “ _ Gods _ , Geralt…”

It takes a few minutes for the Witcher to catch his breath this time around. And then, almost dryly, “I think it’s safe to assume from the lack of hooves that you’re not a pure-blooded incubus.” He remarks, smoothing his hands over the slightly hairy legs still curled around his waist. 

Jaskier raises an eyebrow, as if to ask  _ ‘Really?’ _ . “You’re remarkably unperturbed about all of this.”

Geralt sighs, pulling out rolling over onto his back. “Yes, well, it’s hard to care about  _ much _ with my dick still wet.” He closes his eyes, “Go back to sleep. I want to be out of this godsdamned forest come nightfall, which means I need you sharp.”

Jaskier reaches for him tentatively, causing the Witcher to roll his eyes and roughly tug him against his chest. “So, you… You don’t want me to leave? I can… I can really stay?”

“Hmm.” He grunts, “What did I say about asking me stupid questions?” A few seconds later, he’s met with the soft rumble of Geralt’s snores--and though the fear still remains, he allows himself to believe that… just this once… everything might work out okay. 


End file.
